


Suppression

by doppelwolf



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Heavy Angst, Kissing, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-World of Warcraft: Shadowlands, Psychological Trauma, Scars, Self-Flagellation, Self-Harm, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doppelwolf/pseuds/doppelwolf
Summary: The Jailor has been defeated, the Shadowlands restored, but Anduin will never be the same.Worse, expectations for his life have not changed. He must still wed his betrothed, even though he ravaged her countless times under the Jailor's control.How will he service this marriage, let alone the first night?
Relationships: Anduin Wrynn/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Anduin

**Author's Note:**

> Just another dark Anduin fic for your reading pleasure. Please leave kudos if you enjoy.
> 
> The story is a continuation of my other work. Check it out if you're interested to know more about the female character in this story.

Leather scoured Anduin's flesh. The rod left long, red whelts across his body, welts that would subside to bruises before he covered them over with fresh tracks.  
He lashed his broad shoulders, his chest, his thighs, but the tender stretch of flesh at the lowest part of his abdomen bore the brunt of the pain. 

This new ritual was designed to break him of sinful pursuits, to punish his body for its twisted lust, but it seemed to have the opposite effect lately. He didn't understand why the pain made him so hard. He just knew he required more punishment, the memories of what he'd done burned hotter than his inflamed skin. He gasped as the impliment came down again, dangerously close to his swollen member. 

A knock jolted him, and he choked, breathing hard.

"What?" He barked, panting as someone spoke through the door:

"Time is short. We require your presence soon, my King."

Anduin cursed. Yes, best not to keep all his esteemed guests waiting. Best not to seem unlike himself on a day as important as this, though he couldn't have been more unlike himself since his return from the Maw. 

"Sire?" The voice came again, "Should I send someone in to help you dress?"

"Fine, just–just give me a moment," he said, tucking the instrument away. He dressed himself quickly in the garments he wore beneith his armor, enough to protect his modesty and keep anyone from asking questions. 

It took no time for his assistants to prepare him. They carried a jovial mood about them, one he wished he could feel, but the smile he wore was so fake it drained him of his strength. Pain bite at him as they strapped on his plate. The burn of his wounds served as a pleasent distraction. 

He had imagined his wedding day would be stressful, had imagined the fear of taking that next big–planned–step in his life as King. He'd never thought he'd have to face a woman he'd brutalized untold times and take her again.

Anduin didn't know how he would face her. He hadn't seen her in months, her family taking her to recoupirate in some secluded place away from prying eyes. He'd sent letters as he went through his own recovery, processed the memory of what he'd done–everything he'd done. She'd responded after some time, after he'd begged. 

Finally, he was ussured down to the gathering. The whole affair waited on him it seemed. Heads turned to him, some with reassuring looks, others hiding shock at his still ashen skin and translucent hair. Anduin knew his body would never be the same. He hadn't come to accept that fact. He tried to hold a serene expression, but it made his face ache. The rub of raw flesh against his clothes fueling him, giving him the strength not to falter. 

The worst part was how everyone expected him to act normal, to be himself again when that person was gone. The dominating power of the Jailer's magic changed him completely, body, soul, and mind.

If I can just get through this part–he thought, weary but eager to please the assembled leaders. He just hoped that she could stand to look at him, that she wouldn't run away screaming.


	2. Rynn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could she still want him after everything?

Rynn wanted to rip the dress off. Its high collar stretched up her neck, covering every inch of the damaged flesh like a shield. Her scars itched, smothered by the fabric. No amount of healing magic could take the scars away or keep them from bothering her. She wanted to scratch her skin off. Maybe that would stop the insesent buzz of her old wounds.

She'd had too much wine after the ceremony, had needed it after seeing her soon-to-be husband standing there, a death knight in every way but name. When she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing of the man she once knew. He was nearly expressionless, and that didn't change, not when he took her sharking hand, or kissed her softly after prompting from the officiant. He had tried to smile, but it was hollow, the the serene look of a corpse prepared for its own wake.

Now, as the night grew late, his hand held her by the waist, its touch feather light, as he guided her away after the festivities. He dismissed a group of attendants, including Genn Graymane, who seemed to be offering some advice to the young King. A chill ran up her spine as she imagined his stern reminder about an heir. That was, after all, the only thing Anduin's advisors seemed truly concerned about. 

The sound of voices dwindled as they walked. Rynn felt dizzy. Her heart beat hard in her ears. She leaned into the man by her side. A hissing intake of breath escaped him, the tiniest hint of a flinch pulling at him before he accepted her touch. Was he disgusted by her? By all the things she'd done to him, had allowed him to do? She felt sick; She really did have to much to drink.

She let Anduin lead, finding herself in a beautifully furnished bedroom. Flames burned in the hearth, their flickering only worsening her unease. She felt herself faulter, felt gentle hands steady her long enough to reach a plush fainting couch. He laid her down there, before opening a set of doors. Surprisingly cool night air drifted in, battering the fire before engorging it with new fuel. 

"I hope you will enjoy it here," he said from somewhere behind her. She imagined he stood outside those doors, perhaps on a balcony overlooking his kingdom. "I prepared everything I could think of to make you feel..."

Safe? She didn't know if that was possible, didn't know if she could even be in his presence without her memories coming up. His letters told her everything she already knew: that he had been out of control, that he had tried to stop it, that he was so weak, that he was sorry, and sorry didn't matter much. The subtext of his words, what she knew he couldn't say, was that he still wanted her that way. He still thought of her as his queen. the desperation in his words made that perfectly clear.

Worse, even after everything, she still wanted him. She felt that tingling low in her body the second she saw him. 

Footsteps drew nearer to her. He stood beside her, then kneeled, a strange expression on his face. He searched her eyes for a moment, and she thought she might have seen a hint of that boy king she had known behind the icy indifference.

"If there is anything at all you desire, you need only ask," he said, eyes breaking from hers and falling on another door across from them, it's surface carved with a lion's visage. 

"This is your room, and that is mine, should you ever...need me, you are always welcome." 

A meloncholy permeated his tone. It sounded as though he had practiced the words over and over, so many times they had lost meaning. He made to rise, and she stopped him with a trembling hand.

"My dress. I can't get it off by myself." She didn't know why she had stopped him, surprised herself with her own words. She could feel the warmth in her belly, wanted to pull him close and just be there with him. She swallowed hard. How could she want that? 

She sat, turning to face away, and he became the work of unbuttoning the garment, pulling free The tighter areas where they had sewn her into the dress. She bit her lip every time he found one of these places, horrified by the feeling his forceful grip sent through her. 

His gloved hand brushed the white pockmarks that dotted her flesh, ring upon ring of healed bites. A gasp caught in his throat.

"Light," he whispered, voice quivering, the first true hint of emotion she had seen from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed the read~~~


	3. Anduin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I swear I'll never touch you again...if that's what you want."

Anduin stepped back, the sight of her scars enough to make his alcohol-filled stomach revolt. His lover--wife, he corrected— didn’t move, her eyes focussed directly ahead. He wished she would curse at him, scream at him, even take her fists to his chest in anger. Her fury could scorch him better than any brand, far better than the measures he had taken against himself. He clenched his fist, savering the slight edge of nails biting his palm. 

A silence fell between them, stretching endlessly like their days in the Maw. The silence sent his ears ringing, and he felt compelled to speak, to say something even if there weren’t words to express his guilt, his shame. He thought of the rod, the blessed sting across already damaged flesh. 

“I—” he stuttered, unnerved by the consistent, slow beat of his heart, so different from the racing he used to experience in moments like these. “I’m—”

Finally, she turned, eyes searching his.

“I know you’re sorry; please, you don’t have to—”

“Look at what I’ve done to you!” The anger in his voice shocked him, and to his horror, she flinched, an instant of fear flashing in her eyes. He rained the emotion in, tried to embrace the chill he felt and funnel it into a calming voice. “I’ll be sorry as long as I draw breath. I can’t-- I can’t fix this, and we’re meant to...” 

A shudder ran up his spine, his cock giving an involuntary twitch at the thought. His mind went straight to the implement hidden in the next room. The lashes he’d given himself earlier burned hot again, as if to remind him. He would add more once he finally escaped to the solitude of his own room. Light, he wanted her in his bed. He would punish himself for that desire. 

Rustling fabric drew his attention away from his thoughts. She was standing, the gown hanging loosely around her torso. She let it fall away, showing him the full extent of his marks. The pain he felt eclipsed every previous tragedy in his young life. He felt it deep in his chest--and in his cock. 

He took another step back. 

"I swear I'll never touch you again." His words rang hollow, a lie he knew he couldn't live, not when his desire burned so intensely.

"That's...not what I want," she whispered, teeth working her lip. Her gaze flicked to his face before she looked away again, the flush on he cheeks more evident now. 

His body closed the gap between them, approaching as if she were a scared animal. His hands moved to her bare hips, fingers barely touching her flesh. She leaned into him immediately, face turning up, eyes closed. He kissed her, a tentative peck first, but her lips parted to accept him. He pulled back.

"You've had too much wine."

His body screamed for him to be quiet, to let it happen. She wanted him, somehow she still wanted him. He needed to get this armor off, needed to feel her skin against his. His mouth fell in hers again. He lost himself in the sensation this time, surprised at the impassioned movement of her lips, at their entettwining tongues. 

Before he knew what was happening, she was on the fainting couch again, and he was between her legs, kissing the marks on her belly, her thighs, before a quick tug on his hair made him look up.

"Not like that," she breathed, eyes wide and fixed on his mouth.

He moved up, kissing her again. He used his fingers instead, palm rubbing her mound before allowing his forefinger to slip between the cleft of her. She was already slick, taking his fingers inside with ease. She moaned against his mouth, her climax breaking shockingly fast. He kept working her, bringing her over the edge again and again until her legs quivered, falling limp when he pulled back.

His plate kept him tucked away from his own hand. He savored the throb of his desire, untouchable and painfully engorged.

A voice in the back of his mind hissed that this was wrong, so wrong, but he pushed the thought down. 

He wanted her, and he would have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed the read~~~


	4. Rynn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes darted toward the chamber door.
> 
> "Show me," she begged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little carried away with this~~
> 
> A more... intimate scene to come~~

Rynn lay back, breathing hard, mind buzzing and body alight with pleasure. If she kept her eyes closed, focused only on his tongue, his fingers, the pressure of his body, not quite so cold now, she could still lose herself to orgasm. That was a good sign, she hoped. But the real test was to come. She wanted more. She needed her king. 

Once he had brought her over the edge one last time, he laid awkwardly with her, their mouths still intertwined. His weight made her nervous, but he made no attempt to use it against her. She tried not to think of being held down. Her heart thrummed in her clit as she imagined it. She hated herself for that.

Finally, he pulled back, and she studied his face through half lidded eyes. She's still struggled to read his expression, the dominating power of the jailer having striped so many pieces of him away. 

His eyes flicked toward his chamber door, a despite measure.

She hesitated for just a moment. 

"Will you show me," she gasped.

He considered the question for a brief moment before leaving her side, searching a nearby wardrobe for something to cover her. He returned with a silk night dress, wasting no time handing her the garment and moving towards the door. He paused again then turned the knob. He seemed almost shocked, throwing her a blank look before backing into the room. 

She took her time to stand, testing her weak legs before following him. Wrapping herself in the silk as she went. She held her breath as she stepped across the threshold. A shiver ran up her spine, though the room was warm, furnished and prepared for.two. the bookshelf lined walls drew her attention immediately. Her finger running along the thick tomes.

A familiar weight returned to her stomach. The room was strange, things arranged needly, barely lived in. Her heart skipped a bead when she heard the familiar sound of him unclasping his armor, the armor he wore now at all times as if it had become a part of him. She tried to breathe and turned to face him. His clothes were stained with blood. Streaks of it rising from the hem of his pants.

He read her shocked expression before she could hide it, eyes darting down before he wrapped his arms around himself.

"This was a bad idea," he said. Anxiety was clear in his posture. She wished it registered in his voice. 

"Show me," she said, lost for words. 

"No, I--you shouldn't see me like this. It's my burden."

She took a slow step forward.

What are you doing part of her screamed. He would have let her retreat to the comfort of her own room. She could end this night in her bed alone. but she thought about what he had done to her earlier, what he had done to her a thousand times maybe. 

She took his wrists, untwisting his arms. He didn't fight her, just looked away as she pulled the shirt free from his trousers, fingers fumbuling with a few buttons. She gasped when she saw the raw scores across his abdomen. Some had faded to bruises, others were fresh, the skin slightly broken in places.

"You did this?"

It wasn't really a question. Of course he had. Who would have dared do such a thing to King Anduin Wrynn, after everything he had been through, after everything he was now?

"It used to help," he said, "But now--" 

He looked pained, as if thought went so much deeper, but he couldn't bring himself to say anymore.

"I want to help you," she said, and she thought she ment it. Silence engulfed them.

"Maybe you can," he finally murmured. 

His eyes met hers, then darted to his wardrobe. He pulled away, retrieving a long, thin instrument. He offered her the crop.


End file.
